


They Always Use Bendy Straws for Juice Boxes

by Mookie



Category: South Park
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 11:15:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3207167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mookie/pseuds/Mookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott couldn't remember how he'd gotten here. He remembered feeling a little light-headed in gym class, but there had only been five minutes left to run laps. Five minutes was nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Always Use Bendy Straws for Juice Boxes

They always used bendy straws for juice boxes. Scott toyed with the straw, pulling both ends to elongate it, then compressing it back. The sound it made wasn't quite like a zipper; maybe more like that instrument they let him play in band that one time. His brows wrinkled in concentration. Not Gueermo; that was Bridon's last name. He bent the straw and poked the sharp end against the tip of his finger. Why couldn't he remember?

The straw was taken away, and a moment later, the juice box was in his hands, straw in place. 

“You need to drink it,” Butters said.

Obediently, Scott put the straw in his mouth and took a sip. Apple. The juice, not the musical instrument. He preferred the mixed berry juice, but apple was good, too. He held the juice out, a foot in front of his face, and stared at it. Had Big Bird always been pictured on these juice boxes, and if he had, why hadn't Scott noticed before?

Someone was clearing his throat. Probably Butters. Butters was a good friend, at least when he wasn't hanging around Cartman. Except for that one time when he beat Scott up for no good reason. At least he'd just gotten punched; Scott had heard that Butters had ripped on the other guys pretty good that day. It was nice that they'd gotten a taste of what Scott had to endure every day.

Someone took the juice out of his hands and held the straw up to his lips.

“Drink,” urged Butters. Scott took another sip and blinked at him. “All of it,” Butters added sternly, and the subtle tone of command was enough to get Scott to finish the rest of the juice. He was vaguely aware of Butters shaking the box to be sure, and Scott's gaze dropped to his lap.

He couldn't remember how he'd gotten here. He remembered feeling a little light-headed in gym class, but there had only been five minutes left to run laps. Five minutes was nothing, and he kept a tube of glucose gel in his gym locker for emergencies. He used to keep Twizzler Nibs in there, but someone (Cartman) had discovered his secret stash at some point, leaving nothing but an empty bag. The glucose gel tasted like shit, but it was less of a temptation than regular candy. Was the gel still there? He didn't even know if he'd made it to his locker to check.

He pulled at the front of his T-shirt, where it was sticking to his chest. He wanted to take it off, but the last time he'd done that, it had been in the middle of English class. He was still living that one down. Scott brushed a few sweat-drenched strands of hair out of his face and looked around. He was relieved to see they were in the music room and not the nurse's office again. He'd spent far too many days in there, which was exactly why everyone made fun of his diabetes.

His blood sugar was back to normal, or at least nearly so, because he started to shiver. He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Eventually there wouldn't be any perspiration left on his skin and he wouldn't feel so cold, but right now he also had a pounding headache from the rapid onset of this latest hypoglycemic episode. He'd take Cartman making fun of his lisp any day, but sometimes he wished more than anything that he might wake up one day not being diabetic.

He closed his eyes and took a few shuddering breaths. He would not cry.

The door opened and Kyle peeked his head in. “Oh, there you are.”

If there was one person Scott resented more than Eric Cartman, it was Kyle Broflovski.

“Yup,” Butters agreed. “Here we are.”

Scott was amused at the way Kyle's eyebrows knit together, right up until Kyle asked, “Are you coming? You know we have a quiz today.”

Drat. Although he'd studied for the quiz, he wasn't ready for it. Not now, not when he was sapped of energy. In an hour or so, it would be as if this whole thing had never happened, but they had physics in less than an hour.

“Oh, boy,” Butters murmured under his breath. Out of the corner of his eye, Scott could see Butters' wringing his hands anxiously.

“Well, as long as you're coming,” Kyle said, and with that, he walked away.

“That wasn't very nice,” Scott mused.

“It wasn't?” Butters turned to look at Scott, his hands no longer twisting around each other.

“No,” Scott said firmly. “He's trying to psych us out. He wants to do better than we do on the quiz.”

Butters frowned. “He does?”

To be honest, Scott didn't know. Maybe Kyle had been truly concerned and had wanted to assure himself that Scott was okay. Scott would like to think Kyle understood, being diabetic himself, but that was the thing. It was like Kyle wasn't diabetic at all. He never saw Kyle pass out from low blood sugar. Kyle didn't wear a pump like Scott did, and Scott had never once seen Kyle excuse himself before lunch to inject insulin. Maybe Kyle just had his under better control, but Scott had seen him drink regular soda and eat candy and not run to the bathroom every twenty minutes as a result.

It was Kyle's remarkably maintenance-free diabetes that made Scott nearly hate him. Not even Cartman gave Kyle grief about being diabetic. He saved all of that for Scott, as if Scott was the only diabetic in school. 

“No,” Scott admitted. “Maybe. I don't know.”

“Oh,” Butters said. He went back to rubbing his knuckles together, trying hard not to be obvious about looking at his watch.

Scott didn't want to be late to physics either. He stood up.

“Come on,” he said. “We'd better get to class.”

As they walked past the percussion section, Scott's gaze fell on a long wooden cylinder with ridges along its length. He remembered Kenny laughing about it being 'ribbed for her pleasure' the first time they'd seen it. A reluctant smile quirked at the corners of his lips.

“Hey, Butters, you know what this is?” he asked, running his fingernail along the ridges.

“That? Why, that's a guiro.”

“A guiro,” Scott repeated. Not a Gueermo. He'd been pretty close, considering. He was kind of proud of that. Yeah, it sucked that he had a lot of lows, but not nearly as many as he used to. And yeah, Kyle might go through life like he wasn't diabetic, but that was probably why he was down to one kidney – one that used to be Cartman's – while Scott had both of his.

Butters looked at his watch again and then back at Scott. “If we leave now, we'll get to class on time. Ready to go back?”

Scott shook his head, but he responded with a resigned, “Yeah, I'm ready.” 

Butters chewed on his lower lip. “Are you gonna be okay?”

Not _'are_ you okay,' but 'are you _gonna_ be okay.' He kind of liked that.

“Yeah,” he said, patting Butters on the back. “I'm gonna be okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> I stumbled across this [ list of prompts/tropes on tumblr](http://skrtomg.tumblr.com/post/26843089301/meme-offering), thanks to a recently posted fill for one of them. So I had to write one, too, ~~even if the original list of tropes was posted like three years ago~~ because Kyle's diabetes is kind of like Butters' first kiss actually being from Rebecca Cotswold.


End file.
